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Under The Painting Of The Room
Folder:
Unpublished pieces
And so the words flow out but are never heard.
That is the way of the world. What I speak is not to
be understood. I am a desert in a sandstorm of
resistance. The army of indifference marches
like ants through my mind.
And so I dabble in this, I dribble in that, and everything
I do or say means nothing to anyone but me.
There are fish swimming in an aquarium. They seem
content to be boxed in in walls of glass. Like me, they are
defined by their environment, and I define myself in
terms of what I lack.
And so the thoughts rub themselves into various
shapes of drones that zipper themselves
into rubber body bags.
I am buried in my lies which escape like
a million stars fluttering in the night.
I would speak out loud but the words won't
come. I would walk to the light but the
darkness is so comforting....
Under the shadow of the rocks lies
the bloating heart with veins cluttered
with mundane routes.
I exist.
I conform.
I smile and I laugh.
I am a deepening awareness of nothingness.
And so I forget to use the toilet.
Instead, let the waste
of
life become
my release.
(No subject)